Spiriting Away an Angel
by Author Name Changed
Summary: When he dies, Christine’s father leaves her in the care of the wrong man… an unlikely slave trader. RC, EC.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Spiriting Away an Angel

Author: Zi Ma Gesto

Summary: When he dies, Christine's father leaves her on the hands of the wrong man… R/C, E/C.

Chapter 1

Gustav Daae lay dying in his bed, feeling even his last drops of power leaving him slowly, tantalizingly. An old nurse was sitting by his side, looking stern and it crossed his mind that for her, the sad scene was not unusual. Perhaps she was already used to the tears and pain.

Christine however, on the other side of his bed, was not. He had hidden his illness from her for as much as possible and now she was crying on the side of his bed.

"They must be able to do something!" she cried. "Please…"

"Christine…" he breathed heavily. "Even though I die… I will be in heaven, watching you… I'll send the Angel to you… the Angel of Music…"

"I don't want the Angel, papa! I want you!" she sobbed.

"I am but a man… but he is an Angel…" Gustav tried to smile at her. "He will sing songs in your head… And you will know I sent him…"

"Papa… Don't die…" Christine begged of him, but he only smiled at him, trying to hold back the coughing fit he knew would come.

"When I'm in heaven, child… I shall send the Angel to you…"

Christine took his hand and caressed her cheek with it, kissing it again and again, large tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'll be good and wait for him then, papa," she whispered.

It was at that moment that Raoul de Changy put his head through the door, blushing for some reason, and looking very agitated.

"My father… He's come, sir…"

The nurse, Christine and Gustav all watched Raoul scatter inside, a tall, solid, stern-looking man coming behind him. He looked unpleasant enough and had small, calculating eyes even as he watched the dying man before him.

"Count," Gustav breathed slowly. "I don't know you too well… but seeing that our children are friends… and I know nobody else here… I left her legally in your care…"

He started coughing badly, blood spluttering out his mouth and scaring the children half to death. The nurse was a tiny bit impressed, knowing he would die soon. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, but in the end, it finally stopped and Gustav looked at the count again.

"See that she is well treated… please… help her… I beg of you…"

The count de Chagny walked to the dying man's side and sat on the bed, solemnly.

"I swear that I shall," he said, simply and Gustav smiled slightly, before falling into another coughing fit.

And so it went for hours, the coughing coming and going, but Christine would never leave his side, crying desperately. The count also stayed there and watched the man dying. Raoul was on the verge of tears also. Gustav had been very kind to him… And Christine… how would she ever recover?

It was painful, the day ending slowly, going into night. The dying man was less and less conscious, only whispering half-coherent things from time to time. Christine kept washing his face while the nurse watched with something akin to impatience. Raoul wanted to cheer her, but knew that it would have been terribly wrong to try to do it.

"You'll play the violin in heaven, won't you, papa?" she asked him once. "And the Angels will listen to you play… and the Angel of Music, he will sing his wonderful songs and you will learn them from him…"

Tears flooded her eyes and she smiled slightly, painfully.

"And then you will tell him to come to me, and tell me how you are doing…"

Gustav died the next morning. Christine only remained around the house for enough to attend the funeral, and then she was sent to the Opera Populaire.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Spiriting Away an Angel

Author: Zi Ma Gesto

Summary: When he dies, Christine's father leaves her on the hands of the wrong man… R/C, E/C.

Chapter 2

He moved with an unbelievable grace through the hidden corridors of the Opera Populaire. Erik didn't particularly enjoy the way Carlotta sung and he'd just given a letter to the managers, so they could understand the imperious need of finding another Prima Donna. And to thank them for giving him his salary in due time.

He sighed slowly. It was a lonely life, but the Daroga was somewhat of a friend. Not that he wanted anybody near him, really, he had his music. He would write an opera himself soon, one which would be just as sad, terrible and beautiful as he felt his own life to be. Don Juan, conquering what his creator would never conquer, he would show the world the power, the greatness that his creator had to keep secret. He would be don Juan triumphant, conquering things such as the fools who wrote the other operas never knew existed. Don Juan would…

He heard crying. Not the screaming type, the sobbing type. And singing between the sobbing, a voice he'd never heard before. How odd, he knew every voice in the opera. It sounded like a child.

He changed his path curiously and made it to a chamber in which one of his secret tunnels ended behind a mirror. It had been a dressing room before, but it wasn't used much anymore. Something about a phantom haunting it. Erik smirked to himself slightly, before getting behind the mirror and looking inside the room. It was a girl of about 16, with long, brown curly hair, crying heart-broken on the bed, gripping the sheets and singing softly, trying to stop her sobbing.

"My love said to me… My mother won't mind… And me father… me father…" 

Her voice kept braking, but he could tell that it would not have broken had she not been crying. He knew the old Irish song, but what puzzled him was that the lyrics did not seem to suit her young age. After all, she could never have loved as deeply as was needed to cry like that, could she?… or did she lose her first love?… How odd. He never quite understood why people cried like that when losing a lover. After all, he was not quite a stranger to physical contact, but it wasn't worth crying after.

"Father…" she sobbed, losing the song again. "Send me the Angel, father… the Angel of Music… please!… I know I said I didn't want him, but I do! I want him! I wish he was here!… Please, father?… Send me the Angel. You promised…"

The Angel of Music! Erik wondered what the girl was talking about. So, it had nothing to do with lost love… Then why the tears? Maybe she wanted to compose music and had no talent for it.

The door opened and the girl shot up quickly and tried to wipe her tears off. Erik recognized Meg Giry entering and saw the blond girl sit on the bed next to Christine and taking her hand compassionately.

"Christine, you don't need to hide… It's normal to cry when your father died."

"He would not have wished me to cry, Meg…" she answered slowly. "But I miss him… He is my friend, my helper…"

"We'll be here for you, always," Meg replied.

"He… he promised he'd send the Angel of Music to me. Have you ever heard of the Angel, Meg?"

"No, no, I haven't," Meg answered.

"Oh, he's wonderful. He comes to the greatest musicians and sings songs to them and teaches them how to sing, so that their souls can soar with music. Father used to tell me about Little Lotte and her Angel of Music, how he came to her, unseen, but with the greatest voice ever to be heard by a human. And he taught her how to sing and they'd go through the woods, singing songs together and all that listened would be enchanted by the song! And they'd dance, and he'd say riddles and she'd guess what he meant. It seems so wonderful! I wish the Angel of Music came for me, too, Meg! And he could tell me how my father is, up in heaven."

"He'll come!" Meg replied. "He will… And then, you'll be the greatest Prima Donna ever! And even the Phantom of the Opera will have to come out and bow to you!"

'_Me!' _ Erik thought suddenly, jumping a little against the cold wall.

"And my father will see from up in heaven!" Christine said, grinning. "And he'll be so proud of me!"

"Don't worry," Meg said, wiping away the tears from the other girl's eyes. "He'll come. And all will be well."

Erik decided to leave. Nothing more seemed to happen there. So, they had a new addition to the opera house. Well, she had a fairly good voice, even when breaking and sobbing. Perhaps she could be taught, so she could replace la Carlotta? It was a long shot, but perhaps it would be worth it.

Hah. The Angel of Music, indeed. He never had an Angel of Music and he was still the greatest musical genius he'd ever met.

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"Good evening, Monsieur de Changy." The dark-skinned man said, smiling oddly.

The count of Changy greeted him back and led him in the small, tattered building. It was a dark place, with much-used and old furniture, a house that would have seemed abandoned, if not for a strange growling and soft sobs. The count entered a large room and the dark-skinned man followed. There were a few children of the streets on the floor, sobbing, and a few gypsy girls also. There was a scared girl that seemed very out of her place there looking around the room. Tied down was an extraordinarily-beautiful gypsy girl, 17 of age, who growled. There were three men armed with guns and swords each, one of who was scratched terribly on the face. One could realize easily from the way he looked with despise at the tied down gypsy that she'd been the one to scratch him.

"Quite fascinating," the dark-skinned man said softly, not appearing to be fascinated at all. "You have quality material here. With a wash and a bit of good clothing, most of these would be well for my master."

"I'm glad we think alike," the count of Chagny nodded. "Nobody will search for them. They will make wonderful slaves. And, ah, there are two special cases here: this wonderful woman, daughter of a merchant. Both her parents died in an accident and she was left alone in the woods until one of my men found her by chance and convinced her to come with him."

The frightened girl looked at them pleadingly, not knowing to expect no pity from anybody in the room except the other captured ones. Her quick breathing made her rather large breasts go up and down under her corset in a rhythm that, unfortunately for her, attracted the attention of the count and the other man. The count signed for the other to join him and the two got close to her, making her even more scared. The count grasped one of her breasts and she let out a small scream of fear.

"Very nice material, you see," he explained to the man he was doing business with. "Bet she's not even deflowered."

"My master would be happy to have her," he replied simply.

"Pick somebody of your size!"

They turned in the direction of the snarl that came from the gypsy. She lied down, bound, but her eyes glowered with hate and her lips were curled in a grimace.

"You have a protector," the count said to the merchant's daughter. Then he turned to the gypsy. "Fancy women, do you? Your new Persian master will be very pleased to hear that."

"He will see nothing but my wrath!"

"I'll take her too, my master would love her also."

The gypsy just growled and the two men started sorting through the others in the room.

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Erik had finally decided: he would take care of Christine Daae himself. For some reason or another, he decided she would be worth it. Perhaps he was growing some affection?… Well, she seemed alone and heart-broken… Maybe that was the thing they had in common: her present and his past.

He watched her from behind the mirror, nearly asleep, and whispered softly:

"Christine… Christine…"

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Thanks to my one and only reviewer, Luxis-lil! (thank you very much for the correction, don't know why I wrote his name like that… didn't stop to think, most likely.)


End file.
